


Out

by gin_tonic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Character, Blindness, Community: snape_potter, Disability, First Time Fest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_tonic/pseuds/gin_tonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has his routine and he likes it. Until, one day, Snape comes and turns his world around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out

**Author's Note:**

> A gazillion thanks to unbroken_halo for the extremely speedy and diligent beta! <3

There were facts in life that couldn't be changed. Facts like Ron loving Hermione, like Malfoy being a blond ponce, like Harry being blind. It had happened in the aftermath of the final battle – a battle that might have vanquished Voldemort, but that certainly hadn't been their last. A nasty hex, meant to maim, if not to kill, had severed Harry's optical nerves – they were too damaged for even magic to heal them. And so, Harry remained blind.

There had been the expected phases of anger, denial and depression, followed by an attempt to make the best out of the situation when acceptance set in. And for a while, it had been okay, because Harry had started getting used to navigating blindly, to make use of spells without _seeing_ their intended target.

And then he'd got jumped out on the street. He'd been unable to defend himself – he hadn't seen it coming. He hadn't even heard his attackers before they'd hit him, hadn't been able to react before it was too late. The only reason he actually was alive was because a passerby had jumped to his aid and had helped the helpless blind man. Not that Harry wasn't grateful.

After that, Harry only went out with a strong Shield Charm and a Glamour in place – or with a friend by his side to watch out for him. Strength in numbers, he told himself. But keeping the spells up was exhausting, and so Harry only ventured out alone on short trips and preferred to spend his time at home.

It had taken Harry a long time to find work that fit his abilities and his disability both. Eventually, he'd found that with the shift of his senses had come the ability to feel kinks in magical fields. This allowed him to repair magical objects of all kinds, especially wands that carried spell damage. It was work that took patience – something he had to learn after the hex had struck – but that was incredibly rewarding.

Harry worked from home, where he'd set up a workspace designed especially for wand work. Everything had its place – had to, really, or he had to _Accio_ everything to him all day long – and Harry's system worked well. Sometimes he would have to work on the wood or with the wand-cores, and not only their magical fields. It was trickier work, but still doable, now that he'd actually mastered the techniques. And Harry liked working with his hands, in addition to the strenuous magical work. Plus, he rarely needed to venture out – all his business was done via Owl order.

 

 

******

 

The first time Harry noticed he kept running into Snape was when Snape cleared his throat accidentally. There was this special, weird rasp in the sound that had been there ever since Nagini's attack. Harry startled – and nearly fell, only to be barely caught by Snape. Not knowing what to say, he thanked the man as if he didn't know who he was and went his way.

The next time he ran into Snape, Snape rasped "Watch it, Potter," into Harry's ear. Harry felt both confused and scared. Had he forgotten to use his Glamour? But no, he could feel it prickle on his skin. How, then, had Snape known? And what did Snape want? There had to be a reason why he kept running into Snape – even a blind man like Harry could see that. For a while Harry stopped venturing out – he had everything he needed inside his flat, anyway – and pondered what could be going on. He found no answer, though. He considered asking George what was up with Snape these days, because George always knew everything when it came to their community. But George would probably mention to Ron that he'd asked about Snape and Ron would tell Hermione, because everything concerning Snape still set him on edge. And Hermione, in turn, would want to know what was going on. And so, Harry kept his mouth shut on the issue and tried concentrating on his job instead.

 

******

  
When Harry left his home almost a week later to buy a new set of robes (Ginny had informed him that his looked like a Thestral had peed on them), he fully expected the Snape-problem to have solved itself. Or rather: He didn't even think of the possibility that he might encounter Snape again. Yet he did. This time, though, it was Snape's aftershave that he noticed before he ran into the man. Harry Apparated home without even making it to Madam Malkin's – the robes would have to wait. Snape was creeping him out. Snape never used to be out this much – certainly not where he could run into Harry. Actually, Harry could count the number of times he'd encountered Snape since the war on one hand. Snape was a virtual recluse, from what Harry had heard, even though his sources were admittedly few. Only George, and Luna might mention Snape from time to time.

Harry bit his lip and tapped his finger on the table, tracing the lines in the wood. Something was clearly going on, though. Why else would he keep running into Snape – quite literally? Snape must have some ulterior motive, but what was it? What did he want from Harry? Harry tried to think of anything in recent memory that could have caused Snape's sudden interest. But no – life was going on as usual. There was Harry's work, the occasional night out with his friends, the monthly family get-togethers at the Burrow (the Weasleys had made it pretty clear that he was considered family) and his and Luna's standing biweekly date of tea at his place.

Lost in thought, Harry twirled a branch of rowan between his fingers. Later on, he would use it to repair a broken wand, but now it sparked an idea in him: Maybe Snape's new interest had to do with Harry's work! Harry quickly summoned his books, in which he kept meticulous records of all his work orders. A simple spell noted all relevant data in the books – and an equally simple spell now read out what Harry had recorded previously.

 

******

  
If Snape was indeed stalking Harry, Harry wouldn't just sit around any longer and ponder what was going on. He'd had enough of that. Next time he went out, he decided, he'd confront Snape and make him tell Harry what was going on. Harry'd put up long enough with this shit. Besides, he had better things to do than worry about Snape. Harry huffed.

It was definitely fate when Hermione Floo'd him in the afternoon and invited him out for supper. Harry would grab another batch of _Smithon's Smoothing Solution for Wands_ in the Apothecary and then head for the Leaky Cauldron. That should give Snape ample time to find him and _accidentally_ run into him.

Before going out, Harry triple-checked his Glamour and put up a Shield Charm, as he usually did whenever he went out on his own, and Disapparated to the Apparition point closest to Diagon Alley.

 

******

  
Snape didn't show that day. Maybe it was because Harry had been about to meet Hermione. Maybe it was because Harry actually wanted Snape to run into him. Maybe he'd gotten sick. Whatever it was, it kept Harry distracted all day and even more curious than before.

Where had he met Snape last? Harry frowned. Pinpointing locations had become a challenge after he'd been blinded. Nevertheless, Harry was still able to do it – it just worked differently than before. He tried remembering what the pavement had felt like, what he'd heard and smelled as he had walked down the street. He knew he'd passed Florean's, had heard children's chatter and had smelled a fresh batch of chocolate fudge ice cream. Afterwards, he'd turned onto the small side street that would eventually get him to his specialty vendor, who organized rare woods and such for Harry. He'd not gotten that far, though. There had been uneven cobblestones, cracked and one missing – he'd been right in front of the shop that sold material for Divination! Harry's frown deepened. It had been common knowledge how much Snape despised the art of Divination. Why, then, had he been there?

At a loss for any viable leads from his books and the information he had on Snape's recent activities, Harry knew there was nothing for it. He had to find out what Snape was up to – if only for his own peace of mind. But where should he start? There were so many places he would have to visit and check… The thought of leaving the house for a longer period of time made his insides clench and wobble, but he knew it was necessary. After all, he couldn't ask his friends about this. No, he had to investigate Snape on his own. Tomorrow. He'd go out tomorrow.

 

******

  
Harry Apparated with an audible pop into his flat and shakily felt for the nearest chair. As his hands found nothing but air, he sank down on the ground and tried for deep breaths to fight the budding nausea and the feeling of light-headedness.

"Fuck," he breathed into the emptiness of the flat and was thankful that he was alone and no-one could see him. More than anything, he wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week, but moving was out of the question for now. As was using his magic. "Fuck," he repeated. He'd forgotten how draining this all could be – Apparating, keeping a Glamour _and_ a strong Shield Charm up at the same time, all the while using his magic to orient himself in a world that wasn't exactly made for disabled people. And he wasn't even one step closer to finding out what was up with Snape.

Snape hadn't been near the Divination shop, nor had he been near the junk shop where Percy had once been caught reading _Prefects Who Gained Power_. The shop had been another one of the places he'd bumped into Snape. Afterward, coming up empty-handed again, Harry had decided to check out what he supposed were Snape's usual haunts. But Snape hadn't been there, either; Harry's approach hadn't worked. And with every passing second it had become more complicated to keep up the Glamour and the shield, all the while trying to orient himself with some spells.

Now he was here, on the floor of his flat, as confused as before. Still no sign of Snape. That settled it. Snape was not stalking him. Harry had run into Snape by chance, only. But one thing remained: Snape was up to something. And Harry would find out what that was.

 

******

  
Since he became blind, lying awake had turned into a strange thing. Lying awake used to mean that he was watching shapes and shadows dance around in the room. It had started in the cupboard, where he'd see Vernon's and Petunia's shadows through the slit under the door. Shadows, to him, had never been scary, but rather comforting. Now, there were no shapes, no comfort. Not even real, pitch-black darkness. Just nothing. Now, there was nothing to distract him from his thoughts and he had to face the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about bloody Snape.

So, Snape wasn't actually stalking him. Big deal. Why would he even be bothered by that? After all, Snape not stalking him was a good thing. He shouldn't even be thinking about following him, should just forget about the man. But no matter what, he could neither shake Snape nor the need to find out what was going on with him. It unsettled him. Why was it always Snape for him?

Harry blinked; the movement remnant of other times. The answer was so clear, so stupidly obvious: _It was always Snape for him_. No matter what he did, he always returned to Snape. The thought, of course, was ridiculous, but it was the truth. Any sane person would try their best to get Snape out of their system. But with Harry, sanity had gone out the window ages ago. He'd try his best to find him and then go on as it was, but he'd never manage to get Snape out of his system. Nor did he want to.

 

 

******

 

A cup of tea nearby, Harry used the next morning to think about all the places again where he'd run into Snape. There had to be some kind of logic, some kind of pattern behind it all, especially since Harry never encountered him twice in the same place. There had been the spot near Madam Malkin's, the side street with the Divination vendor. Harry visualized the places, imagined he was walking down Diagon Alley. Pictures from before burned in his mind like they were fresh, but it really was the feeling of the cobblestones beneath his feet and the smell of waffles and frogspawn that really stood out. He imagined Snape in these places, imagined his dark, lurking form … and suddenly he knew. Snape really _was_ stalking someone, but it certainly wasn't Harry. He was watching someone in all these places. All those places were near less than reputable, but not enough to be banned to Knockturn Alley, just bordering on the 'a normal person would hardly go in there'. And then it was suddenly no longer a problem to find the next place Snape would be lying in wait. Harry donned his coat.

 

 

******

 

Harry did find Snape. He was leaning against the wall of a house past the joke shop, past Ollivander's and just opposite of where Harry remembered one could get trinkets and metal pieces occasionally used in potions. Snape also spotted him right away, as Harry was edging along the wall of the houses. "You."

Harry bit his lip as he realized he hadn't spoken to Snape in years. Not even when he'd run into the man. "Hi."

"Leave."

"What are you doing?"

"None of your business."

Harry huffed. It had taken him too long to find Snape to be scared off this easily. "You're watching someone. I know you are. And I want to who and why."

Harry could practically _hear_ Snape's scowl. "Is that so?"

"Yes. I demand to know." Harry heard Snape's robes swish as he moved and wondered if Snape was still wearing black. And how he could surreptitiously watch someone, when everyone knew who he was and what he looked like? Which, of course, left only one conclusion: "You're wearing a Glamour, too!"

"Ten points to fucking Gryffindor. Now, Potter, I told you to go home. I'm not going to tell you anything and you've already taken up enough of my time. You've had your bit of excitement, now leave!"

"Bit of excitement?" Harry blinked. Not for the first time, he wished he could see and look Snape in the eye as they talked. The gall of the man! As If Harry was some kind of desperate housewife turned adventure seeker with nothing better to do than find out what Snape was up to. Though the latter might be true. But that still didn't give Snape the right to… "What are you talking about? I'm here to help." And he was, even though he had no clue on how to help. But he would be able to help some, that much he was sure of.

"You're here because your life is completely unsatisfactory. You want some excitement and unfortunately you stumbled across me."

"I'm not looking for excitement, you arse!" And his life very much wasn't unsatisfactory. He had his job and his friends, thank you very much, and Snape could just go and fuck himself. Had he really expected this to go down differently? "And besides, aren't you doing exactly what you accuse me of? You're out here, stalking potion makers, divination salesmen and that poor junk shop owner, just to fill up your life with something interesting." There. Take that.

Snape sighed audibly, but the sound wasn't weary and accepting like Harry had expected. Rather, it sounded like it was accompanied by a hard stare. "I'm here, Potter, because it's my job."

"I – What?"

"My job, Potter. I'm doing my job. And you are keeping me from it. Now be so kind as to leave, or I'll remove you myself."

Completely thrown, Harry didn't know what to say and therefore did what seemed logical (and yet untypical): He did what he was told and Disapparated.

 

******

  
About seven cups of tea, one formerly frozen bagel and a bit of left over lasagna later, a hard knock on Harry's door announced the appearance of a visitor. Harry nearly let his cup slip from his fingers – no one ever just dropped by like this. No one _knocked_ like this. And yet the wards had chimed and nothing had set off the alarms. This just left one conclusion.

"What do you want?" Harry asked as he opened the door and Snape (the tell-tale swish of the robes betrayed his presence) swept inside.

"I want you to stay away."

"Pardon?" Harry closed the door and moved to the kitchen. He didn't ask Snape if he wanted a cup of tea and just got more water boiling.

"I don't know what you are doing, Potter, but it has to stop. You're endangering this whole operation!"

Of course, Harry's interest only increased with that. He had been curious (and confused) already, but the word _operation_ sounded grand and ominous, and Harry really wanted to know more. He decided to go for honesty: "I just wanted to see what you were up to. After all, I kept running into you."

"So those other times you happened onto me purely by accident?" Snape's doubts were more than obvious in his voice. The tea kettle whistled sharply and Harry flicked his wand to summon two cups for tea.

"I thought you were running into _me_ ," Harry said and ignored Snape's snort. "On purpose."

"And, pray, why would I want to run into _you_?"

Harry shrugged. He very definitely wouldn't share any of his theories with Snape. The man's laughter would be too cruel to hear.

"Potter, you've fabricated yourself a nice little theory for this game of yours. But it needs to stop – now. This is too serious and too dangerous to serve as your own personal distraction."

"What is it exactly that you do?"

"None of your business."

Harry said nothing and just waited. He'd learned that technique from Snape when he was a kid.

Snape sighed. "You won't let it rest until you know, will you? Very well: I'm following a group that sells counterfeit, spoilt potions to willing buyers, who then sell those to their customers. We've had a number of deaths due to their potions already and they need to be stopped. I'm identifying the group's members with every drop they make. The only thing I don't know yet is whether or not they are selling faulty potions on purpose."

Harry nodded gravely in understanding. He hadn't realized that Snape was involved this deep in law enforcement. But, then again, maybe that was the point. He took a deep breath before trying to offer his help – but Snape got there first: "Now, you will stop butting in and will try to fill your meaningless days with something else to keep yourself from living your life."

"What are you talking about? I _am_ living my life!"

"You are holed up in your flat, Potter. When and if you go out, you do it with a Glamour or your friends."

How the hell did Snape know about that? "Yeah, well, it’s too dangerous if I don’t."

"Since when do you care about danger? Weren't you the one to fight basilisks, dragons and Dementors?"

"Since I’m blind, that’s when. I can’t defend myself against someone I don’t see."

"Of course you can."

"I can work spells, put up Shield Charms. Strong ones, even. But I can’t fight a group of attackers. Experience has taught me as much."

"When did that attack take place? Years ago, wasn't it?" Harry was surprised Snape actually knew about that. "Didn't you learn anything about casting in all these years? Didn't your skills improve? Have you _tried_ fighting against that many opponents in one of those training sessions that you and your friends used to love?"

Harry stayed silent during Snape's tirade. He had nothing to say, really.

"I thought not. Instead, you prefer to rot away in your flat, throwing one pity party after another." Harry heard him move; his robe rustled again. "Just stay away from my investigation." And then Snape left, leaving his untouched tea behind.

 

******

  
Harry sat at the kitchen table, the cup of tea in his hand turning cold slowly. 'Taken aback' didn't quite cut it. He'd always thought of himself as someone who didn't sit around, who acted. Someone who _coped_. Because that was all he had done ever since he'd landed on the Dursleys' doorstep. Or so he'd thought. And now it turned out that he hadn't, not in the last three years. And it had taken Snape to open his eyes – so to speak. Had his friends noticed it, too? Why hadn't they told him? Or had they told him and he had just not noticed? Harry shook his head. Suddenly, it was as if he could _see_ himself from the outside: Staying at home, seldom venturing out. Being scared of leaving his flat alone, casting Shield Charms so strong that they sapped his energy. It was safe, but it certainly wasn't healthy.

Harry breathed in, breathed out. His tea was cold. He didn't know what to do.

 

******

  
Sleep eluded him once more, but it made no difference. He couldn't lie in bed, because the sheets had turned uncomfortable and stifling. He couldn't sit on the couch, because his legs got too restless. He couldn't work, because he couldn't concentrate. Nothing was right anymore. And he couldn't turn off his fears.

He obsessively analysed every moment he'd spent with Snape lately, tried to make note of each and every detail. It was strange how he remembered what Snape's aftershave smelled like. Just like it was weird that it made his heart beat faster. He tried to ignore it, because now, more than ever, it was obvious that nothing would become of his desires. But, it was something to hold on to, something to distract him. He went back to the details: Cobblestones, gravel voice, smell of frogspawn, sawdust and rotten cabbage. A tingle on his personal shield.

WAIT.

That hadn't been there before. Harry sat up straight, nearly spilling his tea with the sudden movement. How could it –?!

Well, Snape had been wrong about one thing: He had, in fact, learned a ton in the past three years. About magical fields of all kinds, be it those of wands or Shield Charms. And this... A ward tingling like this could only mean that it had come in contact with a strong spell. A spell that wouldn't have penetrated the Shield Charm, wouldn't have been harmful, but most likely one that should have allowed the caster to see past Harry's Glamour. Where had he felt the tingling sensation? Definitely that last time he'd bumped into Snape. And those times before? Harry bit his lip, tried to think back. And yes, there it was. But why cast that spell on a blind man? Why stalk him?

Unless. Unless Harry had been caught in a widely cast spell – one that Snape had been the target of.

Harry swallowed heavily. There was no doubt about it. The people Snape was following knew who he was and what he was doing. And Snape had no clue. If they really were as dangerous as Snape said, they wouldn't wait much longer to take care of the problem Snape posed.

Harry cast a time spell: It was still the middle of the night. Snape wouldn't be out there right now and Harry couldn't very well go over to his house and warn him – after all, he had no clue where the man lived. Snape had vacated his old house in Spinners End years ago. But Harry could send an owl. He'd bought Xerxes some months after he'd become blind – Xerxes was trained to work with disabled people and was surprisingly patient for an owl. And so Xerxes waited for Harry to spell the note he'd dictated with a variety of the Quick-Quotes Quill to his leg and took off.

 

******

  
Eventually, exhaustion had caught up to Harry and sent him sprawling on the couch. He woke past lunch-time and jerked up, feeling completely disoriented. A spell told him the time and a quick check told him Xerxes wasn't back yet. Had Snape got Harry's message? Had Harry been able to warn him in time? Harry bit his lip. Maybe Snape had been hidden by a Fidelius Charm. Xerxes wouldn't have been able to find him then. What if Snape had Apparated straight to the next location, to collect more evidence?

Harry tried to calm himself by saying that they probably wouldn't do anything during the day, especially not on a crowded street. But one could never be sure… There were spells that could kill Snape quickly and silently, if he didn't know to expect them. Harry took a breath and shook his head to wake up further; he needed all his wits now. He needed to find out where Snape would have expected the next drop to take place.

Harry went through his list again, mapped out Diagon Alley and its adjacent streets in his head. Kept record of the shops in the area and compared those to the ones Snape had hit before. Then he remembered the smell of frogspawn – a smell that was common, and yet extraordinary at the same time. He'd smelled it on all locations he'd found Snape in – and it was not a smell he associated with Snape. Which meant that the smell was about the places – maybe even about whatever potions Snape's bad guys sold there. But finding a shop that smelled like something specific posed a new problem: It couldn't be done with a map or a list. He had to go out and find it himself.

Immediately, Harry's insides clenched and twisted, causing his stomach to rumble dangerously and a sheen of sweat to appear almost instantly on his forehead. He felt his shirt grow clammy, felt his hands shake. Nevertheless, Harry forced himself to get up. The time spell told him that it was already late enough for dusk to settle over the narrower streets of the Wizarding world. He had no choice; if he wanted to save Snape, he had to go to Diagon Alley. Alone.

 

******

  
He had to forgo the Glamour and the strong Shield Charm, too, in order to save his energy for whatever was to come. He hoped the only thing waiting for him would be an irate Snape, but fact was that Harry's wishes rarely came true. He felt naked without the spells surrounding him and pulled his hood further down over his head in order to get some kind of cover at least. The only thing he had to help him on the streets was a charm that assisted him with orientation and manoeuvring around.

Harry had reached the part of Diagon Alley that was frequented less. According to the pattern of the hits, this was where the next drop-off would take place. Now, Harry only needed to find the exact location. He took a deep breath, hoping to detect the scent of frogspawn in the air – but no such luck. He heard a scream further down the street – just a child, but it sent his nerves into a frenzy nevertheless. Harry palmed his wand to calm himself. Warn Snape, get back home. It was that easy.

 

******

  
It was never that easy. He found the frogspawn smell. He'd walked past the part of the street that he was comfortable walking in, had kept on until there was barely any noise from other passersby. And then he'd smelled it. He'd searched for Snape – first careful, wandering slowly down the street, waiting for Snape to approach and reproach him. Then, daring to reach out with his magic, in hopes to detect Snape. But he didn't find him, no matter what he did. What he did detect, though, was a fine trace left by Snape… and someone else.

"Fuck," Harry breathed and wiped a hand over his sweaty forehead. It had begun to drizzle, the sound of the drops promising a proper downpour soon. He had to move, had to follow Snape. The rain would clear the air of all traces of Snape, just like it would wash away the scent of frogspawn. Merlin, what he wouldn't give to not have to follow Snape. But there was no way there was enough time for Harry to fetch the Aurors – he had no choice but to move now, if he wanted to save that mean bastard.

Harry took a deep breath and started moving forwards. One step after the other, away from Diagon Alley and down a close that smelled like rat droppings and cat pee – and frogspawn. Nervous, Harry cast a minor form of a Shield Charm, and reached out with his magic to help him guide the way. Finally, he came to a small door. The wood felt old. His hand slipped on the wet, mossy door and a splinter pierced his skin. Harry cursed quietly, and then tried the door handle. It was open. They probably weren't expecting reinforcements. Not that he was the most impressive form of one.

Harry inched inside the place, completely thrown miles from his comfort zone. He had no clue of the layout of this place. There was nothing for it – fuck if he triggered any wards: Harry cast his Orientation Charm like a wide net. It was like a bat had amplified its ultrasound echo – suddenly, he had a feeling like he knew where everything was. Walls, doors, obstacles. _Snape_. There was a cluster of people not too far off. Harry strained to hear them and moved forward as quietly as he could.

"This runs much deeper than you imagine, Snape," someone snarled. Harry froze in his tracks – the voices sounded close. "I would give you the speech on how you'll never stop this operation from happening, even if you manage to defeat us – but that would just be superfluous. You're not _going_ to escape, because we'll just kill you." Feet shuffled and Harry heard several people move. "Any last words?"

"Go to hell."

"Very well. Marcus, take care of this. I have business I have to attend to." Harry heard more movement and made a decision: Before he even knew what was happening, he'd left his secure little place and pushed his magic out towards the speakers.

"Expelliarmus!" He shouted, felt his magic connect with their wands and then rush back to him.

Never trust a wizard, not even when he doesn't have his wand. Harry raised his hand to strengthen the _Protego_ around him, felt curses sizzling against it.

"Potter!"

Without thinking, Harry sent a _Finite_ towards Snape's voice and afterwards hoped this would take care of whatever was going on. He already felt the strain of the spells on him. Spells bounced off the shield, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time until it would break. He heard someone shout a curse to his right, and quickly sent a hex that way, while making his way towards where he'd heard Snape last. Fuck, he needed to hurry this along.

A streak of fire singed his leg just fractions of a second after he noticed his shield was gone. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. He had to do something, or he'd be mush like that time he was ambushed. "Snape, down!" There was no time for hoping. Harry scrounged up every last ounce of energy he had and pushed it outwards in the biggest _Confringo_ he could manage. Then, he fainted – but not before he heard one last shout of "Potter!"

 

******

  
When Harry came to, Snape was patching up his burnt leg. At least Harry thought it was Snape. But a) no bad guy would patch him up, and b) there was no Infirmary smell around, which could only mean that they were not in a hospital. In fact, it smelled like his own home.

Harry licked his lips and moved his hands experimentally. "Snape?"

"You're an idiot." Yes, that was definitely Snape. "What were you thinking?!"

"That you needed saving. It's not my fault you got yourself caught." Harry winced as the Dittany – the smell was quite distinctive – started stinging.

"How did you know?"

"Where to find you? Part logic with a side of pattern research, part the scent of frogspawn that I followed. And your magical signature, of course."

"You came sniffling after me like a dog?" Trust Snape to zero in on that.

Harry sighed. "Yes. In a way."

"Ever heard of sending an owl?"

Harry frowned at that. "I did."

Snape wrapped Harry's leg with gauze and then said, "I forgot the wards wouldn't let strangers' owls through."

"I'm hardly a stranger!"

There was the trademark rustle of Snape's robes and Harry reached out before he could move away. "What happened, exactly?" He didn't let go of Snape and Snape was forced to sit down next to Harry. Snape's robe was soft. Nice.

"It's simple: They found me, disarmed me and forced me into that warehouse at wand-point."

"They had been watching you for a while. Knew you were there." Harry heard Snape draw in a sharp breath. "I realised that last night. It's why I wanted to warn you." When Snape didn't say anything, Harry let go of his arm. "What happened after I cast that last spell?"

"You fainted. Most of the perpetrators were thrown back by your hex and I was able to get to a wand to take care of the rest." Snape got up then. The sound of his heavy steps told Harry he was pacing. And sooner or later he'd leave. Harry didn't like the thought of that. "Why the bloody hell did you go in there?! You could've been killed!"

"You too," Harry said calmly.

"But it's my job!"

"Yeah, well, you kind of fucked it up, though."

"I would have managed without your help! I never asked for it!"

Harry got up at that. "Does that matter now? I mean: really!"

"Yes! I –"

Enough was enough. Harry's hand found the front of Snape's robed and tugged. "Shut the fuck up, Snape." And then kissed Snape. Snape's arms went around Harry almost automatically and his lips parted as he let Harry deepen the kiss. Harry hadn't kissed anybody since he'd become blind. He'd almost forgot the feeling of lips touching his own – a feeling that felt even more intense now. More real.

"What are you doing…?" Snape asked him, as they finally parted.

"Living my fucking life." For the first time in years, really. Harry punched Snape on the arm. "Just like you said." Now that he had Snape back safely, Harry decided, he wouldn't let him go.

 

-The End-


End file.
